


Fuzzy Vision

by miraeyeteeth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraeyeteeth/pseuds/miraeyeteeth
Summary: Maxwell Rayner was not dead.His current situation was, however, extremely less than ideal.
Relationships: Maxwell Rayner/The Admiral
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Fuzzy Vision

Maxwell Rayner was not dead. The police had certainly done their best to render him as such, but in the end he had just barely managed to slink away.

Callum Brodie was not his vessel; though he took some solace in the thought that the boy hadn't been untouched by the Dark.

Privately, he cursed Natalie for her overenthusiasm. If she hadn't cut the throat of that police officer, Leo Altman, then Maxwell could have used his body after he'd been splashed with the soul Maxwell had been attempting to decant into Callum. It wouldn't have been ideal, an imperfect transfer, but it would have been a damn sight better than his current situation.

As it was now, though, Maxwell had to settle for the only other option he had that wasn't either out of reach or actively bleeding to death.

That option being a scrawny black cat that had been huddled under a shelf before the gunshots had startled it out of its hiding spot. A part of Maxwell had died when the bullets had slammed through his chest, and a part of Maxwell had died when Natalie plunged a knife through his throat, but at least a portion of his soul had landed on the cat as it fled, and had burrowed into the yowling, hissing animal.

And so now he was a slim black tomcat with milky white eyes, and he had a problem.

He couldn't speak, and any other forms of communication would be sorely limited. Assuming that he could even find what remained of The People's Church Of The Divine Host after the police got done with their raids, how would he be able to manage another transference ritual? They would need to find and prepare another suitable vessel, and they had lost so many of the required materials in the raid.

He could try to transfer to an imperfect vessel, something at least human in form, but he couldn't afford to be sloppy. He'd already been so diminished by the death of his previous vessel, and before that by the failure of their ritual. He might face total dissolution if anything went wrong the next time he attempted to shift.

Maxwell couldn't afford that. He needed to consolidate his power, needed to find his allies--

Maxwell's machinations were abruptly interrupted by a "mrrrt" sound, and suddenly there was another cat beside him, rubbing against his side and headbutting him affectionately.

Maxwell bristled and hissed, but this did not seem to dissuade the interloper. Instead, it only nuzzled against his throat and began to groom his fur, clearing away the dust and grit from that awful warehouse.

And, oh, that was quite nice, actually.

Maxwell let his hackles fall. He had a lot of business to attend to, but he could perhaps take a just few moments to rest. It had been a truly hellish day. And it was rare for him to attract followers who were quite so affectionate.

The other cat continued to groom him, and began to make a deep, rumbling purr that sank into Maxwell's bones and curled up there. 

Maxwell relaxed further against him, and let his tail twine with the other's.

"Admiral! You naughty boy, escaping like that!" a woman's voice interrupted Maxwell's basking, and he jerked to his feet. Too late, as he was seized by his scruff and lifted up. "And who's this? A new friend? No sign of a collar, and those eyes… you're blind, aren't you, poor little man."

Maxwell hissed at the woman, but apparently she was just as oblivious as her damnable pet.

"Don't be a grump. We'll get you home, won't we, Admiral? No need to fear."

Maxwell growled, but the woman paid him no mind and carted him away.

* * *

"I'm really very sorry about this, Georgie, but I don't… I don't have anywhere else to go." Jon said. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, and he still experienced intermittent tremors, whenever his mind strayed back to the horrible chase through the tunnels and the awful voice of the Not-Sasha thing and the bloody pulp of a person that was slumped over Jon's office desk. He imagined he would still be seeing the caved-in skull of Jurgen Leitner every time he closed his eyes for quite a while now.

"It's fine, Jon. Come in, make yourself at home. You look like hell." Georgie said, shifting aside to make room for him.

"It's been a rough few months," Jon replied wearily, and stepped inside after throwing a glance over his shoulder for any police. The click of the door shutting behind him was no small relief. "Thank you. Truly."

"It's no trouble. I'll get the guest bedroom set up for you." Georgie walked further into her flat, and Jon flinched when he saw a shadow detach itself from the darkness of a half-closed closet and dart towards Georgie.

"Georgie, watch out!"

"Hmn? Oh, right, you haven't met him yet. Jon, this is the Vicar. Vicar, Jon." Georgie said, bending down to pat the gangly black thing that wound itself around her ankles. The thing turned its face in Jon's direction, revealing a pair of milky white eyes that still seemed to stare at him in spite of their apparent blindness.

"That… that isn't a cat, Georgie," Jon warned her, taking a step back.

"Yeah, I know," Georgie replied.

"I know that sounds crazy, but-- wait, what?"

"It's kind of obvious. I mean, a normal cat doesn't tend to cause lightbulbs to immediately burn out in its presence. He's a bit inconvenient, but he's a good boy. Aren't you, Vicar?" Georgie scratched under the not-cat's chin, and it made a rumbling noise that reverberated like they were standing in a vast cathedral, rather than a mid-sized flat. "The Admiral loves him very much, and honestly I don't think the shelters would take him."

"I… you…"

"Right, the guest room. Sorry, I'll get right on that," Georgie straightened up and headed down the hall.

Jon just stayed in the foyer, staring at the night-black thing that stretched and trotted down the hall to be met by the familiar fluffy form of the Admiral.


End file.
